


Temeraire and Temerity, or A Slight Misunderstanding

by TwoWeevils



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoWeevils/pseuds/TwoWeevils
Summary: After the stirring events of The League of Dragons, we find Laurence living retired at Tenzing Tharkay's estate in the Peak District. With parliament on summer recess, Temeraire is in want of employment.
Relationships: William Laurence/Jane Roland
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Temeraire and Temerity, or A Slight Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragcoin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragcoin/gifts).



Temeraire climbed out of the lake onto a pebbled shore and shook himself mightily, broadcasting a shower of water over the beach. The people in attendance, being used to the ways of dragons in general and Temeraire in particular, had wisely placed themselves beyond reach of the droplets. The red Kasilik dragon, who had been dozing in the sunshine, woke with a start as the spray hit her, a spurt of flame emerging from her jaws as she looked for the source of the attack.

“Temeraire!” Iskierka growled impressively. “Splashing me while I slept! I have a good mind to scorch you for it.”

“Well,” said Temeraire, brushing water from his face with a foreleg, “you should have chosen another spot to be lazy in.”

“I am not lazy,” she said with some asperity. “It is not lazy to wish to sleep after a long flight and a good meal.”

Temeraire eyed the gory evidence of the cow she had eaten around her jaws and on her talons. “That may be true,” he observed. “But surely it is laziness to lollop about in all your dirt when a perfectly serviceable lake is nearby.”

Iskierka snorted and turned away as Temeraire made his way to the grassy field surrounding the lake and settled down near the people who were seated on blankets and enjoying a nuncheon _al fresco_.

“Now, Temeraire,” chided Laurence. His look told Temeraire that Iskierka was their guest and that it was uncivil to openly insult her. Temeraire huffed a little, but pointedly cleaned a speck of possibly imaginary blood clinging to a talon.

“John,” said Laurence. “May I help you to another glass of this canary? Tenzing found this cache in a hidden cellar only a fortnight ago.”

John Granby, like Laurence and Tenzing Tharkay, was in shirtsleeves, his neckcloth loosened against the warm weather. He downed the heeltap left in his glass and held it out for Laurence to fill with the cold amber wine. “It is uncommon good, Will,” he said taking a sip. “I know almost nothing of wine, but this is surely some rare vintage.”

“I cannot speak to its rarity,” said Tenzing Tharkay, “but there are four or five score of bottles all tucked behind a false wall next to the root cellar.” He smiled slightly. “I would give much to know the history of how they got there, for surely my disputatious relations would have spirited them away before the courts decided in my favour, had they known of their existence.”

Jane Roland laughed. “My dear Tenzing, I would give much to have seen those relations’ faces when their suit was lost.” She was reclining in fawn-coloured breeches and a shirt held closed by a wide leather belt. Her thick hair was held back from her forehead by the neckcloth she had removed as soon as they arrived at the lake. “No doubt,” she continued, draining her glass, “they would suffer an apoplexy at the loss of this treasure.”

“No doubt, Your Grace,” said Tharkay, raising his glass in a salute.

“Good God, Tenzing!” Roland shook her head as she handed Laurence her empty glass for refilling. “In London I must be ‘Her Grace’ and in covert I must be ‘Admiral,’ but surely when I am your guest, we must be allowed some informality.”

“As you wish,” said Tharkay. “Your Grace.” Roland rolled her eyes and retrieved her glass from Laurence, raising it toward Tharkay with a wink.

Laurence smiled and looked about him at the peaceful scene. It had been nearly a twelvemonth since he and Temeraire had taken up residence with Tenzing at Hemsworth Hall, but this was the first time some of the officers and dragons he had served with in the Aerial Corps had been free to come and stay. Jane had been with them for several days, regularly scandalizing the servants with her piratical attire and startling a chambermaid who found Her Grace _en déshabille_ in Laurence’s bed after he had gone down to breakfast. With her air of command and the disbursement of a golden coin, Jane had managed to reconcile the girl to “such goings on.” His new valet, Riordan – a phlegmatic Yorkshireman who maintained his air of cool superiority even on dragonback in a storm – had likely dropped a word in the girl’s ear as well.

Granby and Iskierka had arrived only that morning, and Captain Little was expected to arrive post and stay for a few days while his dragon, Immortalis, recovered from a minor injury suffered during a training exercise. Laurence mused that Tharkay’s servants might be further shocked should Granby and Little commit any indiscretion. On further reflection, however, he determined that the pair had certainly learned to keep their intimate friendship secret from everyone – except their dragons, of course.

Laurence smiled inwardly at how profoundly his prejudices had been subdued since joining the Aerial Corps. Although he had never lost his sense of duty, discipline, and fastidiousness, he was no longer shocked by the unconventional tendencies of his fellow officers. They had all proved themselves worthy of his admiration and affection. While he might be scandalized by such behaviour in strangers, his friends were free to pursue their quirks without earning his censure.

Temeraire, benignly watching this interplay, also felt very much at peace. They had received comfortable tidings from Maximus and Lily, stationed with their captains at Gibraltar to keep an eye on the Spaniards. His former crew had all received new assignments that met with his approbation and he had spoken to each of their newly assigned dragons, requiring of them assurances that “his crew” would be treated with deference and every attention paid to their safety and comforts. Temeraire had even made an effort on behalf of his deplorable former first lieutenant, Forthing. After learning that, through Laurence’s interest, Forthing had received his step, becoming captain to an anglewing hatchling, Temeraire had sent him a message of congratulations and a new coat. He had also caused a stern message to be delivered to young Laurentia, instructing her in her duty to ensure her captain was always suitably attired and had the means to make a creditable appearance. He forgave Forthing much for the name he selected for his dragon. It was, after all, the least he could do.

As the afternoon wore on, Temeraire had twice more paddled about the lake, staged a mock aerial battle with Iskierka and Excidium (alarming more than one of Tharkay’s tenants), and led the others on a circuit of the Hemsworth Hall estate and the boundaries of his own High Peak and Dovedale constituency as a Member of Parliament.

“You will notice,” he called to Excidium, as they spiralled downward from Thorpe Cloud and across the River Dove, “the several caves and caverns in my district. People pay a penny each to be lowered down in baskets to inspect the caves. They are said to be quite beautiful, but I prefer my peaks and pillars.”

Iskierka flew closer to Temeraire and scoffed, “Your caves and your peaks?” Jets of steam escaped through the spikes on her back. “These lands are not all your property, Temeraire. Just because you happen to live near a hill does not make it –”

“Must I remind you, Iskierka, that I am the draconic Member of Parliament for this whole district?” Temeraire hovered to make his point. “That makes the district my responsibility, therefore, these lands belong to me.” He paused and scratched his chin. “In a political sense.”

Excidium remarked that they needed no reminder of Temeraire’s status as an M.P., and soared down to land on a nearby rock pillar. Iskierka allowed small flames to escape from either side of her mouth, flying a wide circle around Temeraire. “Well then,” she said, “I shall just ask Granby to get me into parliament. Then I shall have an even better district than yours.”

“You in parliament?” Temeraire cried. “You’d have the place in ashes round our feet before the end of your first Question Time.”

“I would not,” Iskierka said. “I can restrain myself when I want to.” She swooped in and smacked Temeraire’s tail with her own. “What is Question Time?”

Temeraire’s sigh was not quite a growl, although it had undertones of the Divine Wind as air moved through his lungs and air sacs. “Question Time is when Members of Parliament may ask questions of the government ministers.” He stopped hovering and joined Iskierka in a languid flying pattern, tracing the path of the river. “It’s most exciting! The Opposition, you see, tries to catch the Government out by asking questions to which they already know the answer.”

“It sounds utterly daft,” said Iskierka, witheringly. “Pray what is the sense in asking a question if you already know the answer?”

“That is how parliament works,” said Temeraire. “Should the Government provide a prevaricating response, the Opposition may ask further questions to embarrass the Government. There is often much shouting and the members bang on their tables.” Temeraire flew faster recalling some particularly raucous exchanges from the last parliamentary session. “Perscitia is most clever at devising questions. Why, Liverpool himself said –”

“Perscitia?” Iskierka cried. “Why, what use is that –”

“Yes, yes, I daresay,” Excidium said, cutting her off while expertly snatching a leaping fish from the river. “But do let us go hunting, Temeraire.”

“Yes!” Iskierka said with enthusiasm. “Parliament sounds a dead bore and I’ve not eaten a deer in an age.” She soared away with another tap on Temeraire’s tail. “I am excessively hungry.”

“Very well,” said Temeraire, pleased to have had Iskierka’s attention diverted from getting her own seat in parliament. “But mind that you hunt within the bounds of Tharkay’s estate. I’ll have no poaching from our neighbours, so you must follow me, if you please.”

On their return to the lake, Iskierka and Excidium found a shady spot to doze. Temeraire considered fishing in the lake, but he had just eaten a rather large buck and he had no fondness for freshwater fish.

“Laurence,” he called from the beach, “may we not go to Scarborough or Margate for a few days?”

“Margate?” Laurence responded. “Whatever would you do there, my dear?”

“Well,” said Temeraire, “we could hire a boat and go fishing. I can’t remember when I last tasted a nice tunny.”

“I shouldn’t go to Scarborough if I were you, Temeraire,” said Granby with a smirk. “Dull as ditchwater. Brighton. That’s the place. Concerts, sea bathing, the –”

“We shall not go to Brighton,” Laurence broke in. Then added, with a pointed look at Roland, “There is nothing there that would interest you, my dear.”

“Come, Laurence,” said Granby. “I don’t say you’re wrong about the company to be met there, but you must agree that it can only do the Corps good to have our flag admiral joining Wellington and Croft for this peace celebration in Brighton.”

“It is not to be thought of,” Laurence said with finality. “I see no occasion for the Admiral to be discommoded by that set of rascals in Cumberland corsets.”

Roland laughed. “My dear, you are most charming when you become stuffed up with virtue.” She reached up to pat Laurence’s shoulder comfortingly. “You must try to remember that I am well able to look after myself. I will be attending as Her Grace the Duchess of Dover and even in that guise, I am not likely to be ogled or made the recipient of improper proposals.”

Blushing, Laurence gently gripped the hand on his shoulder. “That is not precisely what I mean, Jane, delicacy forbids –” At this, Granby and Tharkay burst out laughing. Temeraire, puzzled, crept a little closer to the group.

Roland, maintaining her countenance with strong effort glared at them then turned back to Laurence saying, “I am quite sure the inmates of the pavilion will have little interest in a woman with this great souvenir of the Nile on her face and forty years in her dish. Not to mention,” she said, glancing fondly at Excidium dozing under the trees, “my darling dear over there who would certainly murder anyone who offered me an insult of that sort.”

“What’s this?” interpolated Temeraire, misliking the apparent laughter at Laurence’s expense. “Who is to be murdered?”

“Apparently the Prince Regent, if your captain has his way,” said Tharkay.

Temeraire scoffed, giving that it was his opinion Laurence would certainly not murder the Regent, because that would be treason. “And we have all of us had enough of treason and shall take care to avoid it at all costs.” He dug his talons into the smooth beach stones. “And it would not be proper for me, as a member of His Majesty’s Parliament, to have anything to do with regicide.”

“Quite right!” said Granby, chuckling and raising his glass to Temeraire.

“At very least, Jane,” Laurence said, ignoring Temeraire’s interruption, “you must allow me to accompany you as your escort. An aide-de-camp, if you like.”

“Dear fellow,” said Roland. “You would be bored to distraction and disgusted by the company’s manners, and it would very likely end in a meeting.”

“Oh Laurence!” Temeraire cried. “You must not start dueling again. If that is how you mean to murder the Regent, I must insist in the strongest terms that it is not to be thought of!”

It took some considerable time to bring Temeraire to a correct understanding of the circumstances. When he grasped the nature of the trip, he became enthusiastic and was very much in favour of seeing Roland turned out in all her finery to attend dinners and parties with the Prince Regent. “And Admiral, Laurence must accompany you,” he insisted. “It has been an age since he has had cause to wear his state robes. And a prince of China, you know, must be an acceptable escort for a duchess attending a royal party.” He looked at Laurence speculatively. “Besides, you will hardly wish to duel in your robes, so the Regent will be quite safe.”

A week later, Temeraire and Excidium landed, by prior arrangement, in a farmer’s pasture on a cliffside just east of Brighton. It was, Temeraire owned, a pleasant location, with a large spring for fresh water and a pen of tasty-looking sheep behind a large stand of trees. It did not, however, suit his dignity as a Member of Parliament and companion to a baronet to sleep in an open field. In London, he had a snug little pavilion in the old grounds of the London covert, complete with a coal stove and rugs for warmth, a high-domed roof, dragon-sized couches, and human-sized chairs and tables for when he wished to invite friends for tea. It even had a heavy wood and canvas awning that could be let down to keep out the wind. At Hemsworth Hall, he had built an even larger, more elegant pavilion in the Chinese style, filled with silk hangings and marble fittings, a sand table for writing, and several pieces of dragon literature on large rolls of parchment, sent by his terrifying hatchling, Ning, from her home in the Emperor’s palace.

“Brighton, you see, my lord,” explained the farmer to Laurence, “don’t have much call for housing dragons, not in the general way. Apart, of course, from the odd courier beast like my nephew’s Pennipes. And she’s quite happy here when they come to stay – creeps into that old barn when it rains. My chickens have got quite used to having Penny among them.” He glanced at Temeraire and Excidium towering above him, bowed slightly and said apologetically, “Of course that wouldn’t do for you.”

“And in town?” asked Laurence. “Is there no open space where our dragons may be accommodated?”

The farmer shrugged and twisted the hat he held in his hands. “I really couldn’t say, my lord.”

“Well, Temeraire,” said Laurence. “We both of us have slept much rougher than this in our time. I am sure you can manage for a few days.” He patted Temeraire’s flank. “I am afraid that Jane and I must stay in town. But I will hire a chaise to carry us out to visit you and Excidium as often as we can.”

Temeraire nodded sadly, then brightened and looked over the cliffside. “There is always the sea,” he said. “We might fish and go sea-bathing. Would you not like that, Excidium?” He turned and saw the Longwing helping himself to a sheep from the pen. “Or,” he sighed, “we could just stay here and eat sheep.”

The Duchess of Dover’s party (including Laurence, whom Roland called her “consort” in private), was to be housed in the best suite of rooms at the Castle Inn. There was, of course, no question of Her Grace lodging at the Royal Pavilion, for the Princess of Wales had elected not to attend the gathering and there was every possibility that the scandalous Mrs. Fitzherbert might be in residence.

Laurence knocked and, when bidden, entered Roland’s apartment. Her maid was adjusting a jewelled diadem in her hair, which was arranged in becoming, if improbable, ringlets. “Why, Laurence!” Roland turned and took in her escort’s magnificence. “But what is this? Where is your oriental finery?”

“Oh Lord, Jane.” Laurence sighed. “If I had not been able to convince Temeraire that no power on heaven or earth could move me to make such a figure of myself, I had Riordan prepared to say he had forgot to pack them.”

“I must say the uniform always did become you,” said Roland. “I, on the other hand, am mutton dressed as lamb in this outrageous tiara and sash.”

“Nonsense,” said Laurence noting how well the high-waisted, Pomona-green gown became Roland’s athletic frame. “You look charmingly.” He crossed the floor and made a minute adjustment to her medal for the Battle of Shoeburyness. “And I am reliably informed that the sash is the only acceptable way to wear your ribbons and honours out of uniform.”

“I would as soon wear my uniform,” she said, tugging on a pair of long gloves that perfectly complemented the dress. “But Wellington assures me I will be less noticed – or did he say less notorious – attired thus.”

Temeraire, having enjoyed a solitary paddle, a large tunny, and a brief skirmish with an octopus, relaxed on an isolated beach, stretching out his wings to dry. The full moon had risen and he was placidly looking out to sea, wondering how long it would take him to fly across the Channel to Dieppe just for something to do, when he spotted a small dragon and rider heading, it seemed, toward Brighton. Curious, he leapt aloft and angled to intercept.

“Hello!” he called, moderating his voice to avoid startling the creature. “Why, Elsie! Is it you?”

The Winchester turned, only a little alarmed, and checked her speed. “Temeraire! Look, Hollin, it is Temeraire!”

“Yes, my girl.” Captain Hollin grinned. “There’s no mistaking Temeraire. How do you do? Where is Admiral Laurence?”

“Hollin, it is wonderful to see you.” Temeraire dropped a little below Elsie so he could turn and see Hollin properly. “Laurence is at a party given by the Prince Regent,” he said importantly. “But he will be very sorry to have missed you.”

“Well, if the Admiral is with the Regent, I’ll very likely see him,” said Hollin. “We’ve a message for Wellington and he is to be found at the Regent’s party as well.”

“But Hollin,” Temeraire asked, puzzled. “Where will you put down in Brighton? I have been told there is no room there for dragons, at least not for dragons of my size.”

“We’ve been there before,” said Hollin. “We’ll find plenty of space at the pavilion.”

Roland placed her empty champagne glass on a table and took Laurence’s own champagne from his hand. She drained the glass and set it next to her own. “Dear fellow,” said Roland, leaning in to be heard over the buzzing crowd and an Italian soprano who seemed determined to shatter every mirror in the music room. “For how long must we endure this? May we not slip away unnoticed?”

Nodding at a passing acquaintance, Laurence spoke through a false smile. “I believe this is what the _ton_ call ‘a sad crush.’ We should hardly be missed.”

The Regent’s party to celebrate the peace may have been more than a year late, but it made up for its tardiness by cramming the Royal Pavilion as full as it could hold. The dinner had been an intimate gathering of thirty, and several hundred more had been invited for an evening of music and dancing. For his part, Laurence had enjoyed the evening. It had been a long while since he’d attended a party of this sort and he was gratified to discover that he still recalled all of the steps in the cotillion. Roland had spent a profitable hour in the card room. Her skill at piquet earned the notice of the Duke of York, who demanded a rubber or two with her. Upon being thoroughly physicked by Her Grace, York insisted that she come to Oatlands for a week or two and try her skill against his gaming cronies.

Roland unfurled an elegant chicken-skin fan, painted in gold on ivory sticks, and plied it forcefully. “Why must it be so insufferably hot, Laurence? The place is riddled with windows but they are all shut.”

“The Regent, as you must know,” said Laurence, “has a horror of draughts and will not suffer the windows to be open, particularly at night.”

Roland grinned. “Napoleon may have been an egotistical tyrant, but he certainly wasn’t a precious hothouse flower like – ”

“Ah, there you are, my dear Duchess!” The Regent chuckled taking Roland’s hand. “Do come with me to my brother Clarence. He is all agog to hear of your triumph over York at the piquet table.”

Exchanging a speaking glance with Laurence, Roland allowed herself to be towed through the crowd by His Royal Highness. 

Laurence shrugged and did his best to follow, but was waylaid by an elderly viscountess who had been acquainted with his father.

Elsie took the lead and began to angle toward the center of the town. Temeraire followed and could see a grand building that reminded him of the minarets and towers he had seen in Turkey and China. Hollin pointed and called, “That is the Pavilion, Temeraire.”

“It is very grand!” said Temeraire aloud, then murmured, “I daresay it could house several heavyweight dragons and a score of lightweights like Elsie. Why was I not told of its existence?” He recalled hearing some mention of a pavilion during the discussions at Hemsworth Hall, but Laurence could not have known of it. And that farmer had said nothing about a dragon pavilion in Brighton. It was certainly large enough to accommodate Excidium and himself and had clearly been built in the Chinese style. Temeraire recalled how cities in China erected pavilions for the general use of travelling dragons, like the inns and hotels where humans lodged. Could this be a guest pavilion for dragons visiting the Regent? Observing the vast, brilliantly lit lawns and gardens surrounding the Pavilion, Temeraire began a graceful spiral to land.

With Her Grace the Duchess of Dover, heroine of the late war and flag admiral for the Aerial Corps on his arm, the Regent seemed in no hurry to locate the Duke of Clarence. He was a genial companion, and despite his widely-known libertine propensities, Roland found his conversation unexceptionable and owned – with some surprise – that the Prince had a great deal of charm. Benevolently acknowledging the bows, curtseys, and obeisances performed by all he passed, he seemed ready to be pleased by everyone and everything that fell under his royal gaze. “A sad crush, is it not, my dear?” said the Regent. “But I do dearly love to see my guests happy and it would be shocking to allow any of my friends to be left uninvited on such an occasion.”

“Shocking indeed,” Roland replied, wondering how to detach herself from the Regent without giving offence, and how she was to find Laurence again when she did.

“…your comrade-in-arms, Sir William.”

“I beg pardon, sir,” said Roland. “I did not quite hear…?”

The Regent smiled down at Roland, although she was a tall woman, the Prince topped her height by several inches and his girth made him seem somewhat larger than life. “I merely inquired as to the degree of your acquaintance with Sir William Laurence. I am aware that he was a comrade-in-arms of yours.” He said, genially. “But – and forgive me for being odiously inquisitive, my dear – I wondered whether there was an…attachment between you.”

“Your Royal Highness.” Roland cast her eyes down in what she hoped would pass for maidenly, or at least matronly, propriety. “I do not know how to answer you.”

“Come, my dear,” chuckled the Regent. “It was rumoured – although I never listen to gossip, of course – but it was rumoured that there was, at one time, an attachment between you.” He smiled archly and patted her hand. “I recall there was talk of some indiscreet correspondence…”

Roland slipped her arm from the Regent’s and deftly took a step away, her face perfectly serene, but with a dangerous gleam in her eye. Laurence, any one who had served with her, and even Wellington himself would have known that look and moved hastily out of range. The Regent, blind to these signs of impending violence, reached past Roland and pushed back a heavy velvet drape, behind which was a tall window that opened on to a terrace.

Temeraire was puzzled by the small figures on the ground screaming and running away. Surely the custodians of this fine pavilion must be used to the arrival of dragons. Even though none had likely seen a Celestial, even in an engraving, his likeness had appeared several times in various newspapers and the pamphlets that Perscitia caused to be distributed across the country.

He landed on the wide lawn, drew in his wings and looked around. Elsie had landed several yards away, and Hollin was off at a run, to the servants’ entrance, his courier bag across his shoulders.

Over the incomprehensible cries of fear, Temeraire heard Laurence’s voice raised in anger. He hurried toward the sound and tried to make sense of the scene that met his eyes.

Laurence was handing a fan and a bulging silk reticule to Admiral Roland. At their feet lay a corpulent, very richly dressed gentleman, arms and legs splayed and showing no sign of life.

“Laurence!” Temeraire hissed. “You have murdered the Regent! After all my warnings!” He snorted in disgust. “I suppose we must immediately fly the country!”

Laurence cast a bemused look at Temeraire, while Roland, straightening her sash, burst into a peal of laughter.

“I do not see what there is to laugh at, Admiral.” A low growl escaped from Temeraire. “This time you are caught up in our treason and Excidium will be furious if we must all be hung or transported.”

By this time Laurence began to laugh as well. With some relief, Temeraire observed that the deceased Prince had begun to stir.

Granby was outraged, but Tharkay and Little found the incident to be amusing in the extreme. “And so, Your Grace,” asked Tharkay, wiping a tear, “shall we expect the Life Guards to descend upon us and pack you off to Botany Bay?”

“I think not, Tenzing,” said Roland, passing the brandy bottle to Laurence. “On opening his eyes to the sight of our Celestial looming above him, His Majesty was quite willing to agree that it had all been a misunderstanding and, in the attempt to catch me in a swoon (brought on by the heat, you know, and ladies being such delicate creatures), he had tripped on the window sill and been stunned by hitting his head on the stone terrace.”

Laurence swirled the brandy in his glass. “Regent or no, he would have had more than a sore head had I arrived but a moment sooner.”

“My dear fellow,” Roland smiled. “I honour you for your sentiments, but you must own that if I can fight Spaniards and Frenchmen on dragonback, I can certainly defend my person from that manner of importunity on land.”

Laurence stood, raised his glass and said with a smile, “Gentlemen, I give you Her Grace of Dover. Friend of dragons and foe to royal libertines.”

In his pavilion below the dining room at Hemsworth Hall, Temeraire sighed and turned to Iskierka. “The Royal Pavilion was certainly magnificent, even if it was merely constructed for that Prince to live in.” He scratched his chin. “For all they talk of the wondrous Prince Regent, he is only an insignificant scrub of a fellow. He certainly does not deserve so fine a residence.”

“Well,” Iskierka yawned. “We shall just fly to Brighton after breakfast tomorrow and take it from him.”


End file.
